Moving on
by Siddharth the 16th
Summary: What if everyone dealt with the post-reveal situation like the adults that they are? The same time frame will be told from several perspectives.
1. Chapter 1

CHLOE

He turns, his face covered in blood… no, that's not blood. He turns, his whole head… scalded by something? No, no way. People do not stand tall after they get scalded that badly. So it's all true. But how can it be? And then he – it – speaks.

"Detective?"

There's no pain in that voice. At least, no oh-my-god-my-whole-face-is-all-scorched pain. So, it's all true. Wow, she's said it aloud. Twice now. She staggers back, almost tripping over the stairs, and shifts her gaze for a second, no, even less than that, just enough to keep her from falling. There's a whoosh – and a groan? – and when she looks up again, the creature is no longer there.

Wow. She sits on the staircase and looks around. Pierce's men are gone, all but one dead body. Pierce himself is lying motionless on the floor… wait, is that one of Maze's blades in his chest? How did it get there? And where did all these feathers come from? She feels she knows the answer to the last question. It's somewhere in her head, it's on the tip of her tongue… but what is it? Her head is spinning. What's this sound now? Oh, right. The phone. She takes it out.

"What's going on?"

Dan's voice brings her out of the haze and into the reality.

"Pierce is dead. It's over. I need a CSI unit here."

"Are you OK?"

Wrong question, Dan.

"Chloe?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just... Sorry, I have to go."

She puts the phone on the stairs and takes three deep breaths: one, two, three. She looks at Pierce's body again. Maze's blade. What the hell?

Hell. That's when it strikes her. Her mind's racing, her heart's pounding. Deep breaths. One, two, three. She's not ready to deal with existential and ontological questions. Not now. Baby steps, right? One, two, three.

She hears voices outside. The CSI unit are here. What's she going to say? We came inside, then they started shooting, then we were on the roof, then I was alone, then Pierce was dead, and then… and now I'm here with two dead bodies, all the feathers and no partner. Great story, Detective. Now tell it so that they don't think you've gone crazy from all the shock. No, wait. That's not a bad option. She needs _time_. So, ambushed, betrayed, nearly killed, traumatized, clueless, and therefore, speechless. All true, by the way. All true. It's all true.

And honestly, it's not _that_ sudden. She has known since... well, at least since she opened her eyes on the roof. It's just that she expected the wings - yes, that's it! that would explain the feathers, among other things - and not the _face._ But he never claimed to be an _angel_, right? What was that thing she said to him just before they entered the damn building? "No more devil talk"? Funny. Ha. Really funny. And really mature of him to just… leave. She feels a familiar surge of exasperation and clings to it. He'd better not be in Vegas. That's it. He'd better not. The rest is... well, the rest is, apparently, negotiable.

"He saved me", she hears herself say half an hour later. "I don't know how, but he saved me. When I got back here, he was already gone. No, I haven't tried to contact him".

But I totally should, she thinks.


	2. Chapter 2

LUCIFER

He hears her voice, stands up and turns to greet her. He's happy to see her alive and well. He lets out a sigh of relief – and watches her eyes widen, her whole expression freeze.

"It's all true."

The meaning of her words hits him. How in the name of dear Dad…

"Detective?"

"It's all true."

She staggers backwards, staring at him in horror. The moment seems endless, and then her foot touches the stairs, she loses her balance and looks away. And before he himself can think about what he's doing, he's standing on the roof. He's fled, yet again.

Bloody hell. Bloody hell indeed. He looks at his hands. You can't possibly be serious! The devil face? Now? After saving the Detective, after punishing a cunning and dangerous criminal – the first murderer, no less! – why now? It makes no sense whatsoever!

There's a soft clunk behind him. He turns around, but the roof is empty. Another clunk! He turns again and steps on… a pebble? Ah, a bullet. How many of those are still in his wings? With an effort, he folds and unfolds them. Two more fall out. He takes three deep breaths – one, two, three - and shakes his wings as vigorously as he can. He listens to the patter behind his back – seriously, were there _so_ _many_ bullets? – and feels the pain subside with every passing second. Fast healing is… divine, isn't it?

Now, back to what's really important. Him. No, her. Them. Why _did_ he run away? Wasn't that the whole point? To finally make her see? If he hadn't so artlessly deprived himself of his devil face, she would have seen it a long time ago at the precinct, so why all the drama?

He knows the answer, of course. He killed a man and he liked it. Liked it? No, he _loved_ it. He thoroughly enjoyed every second of it. If Pierce were to appear before him right now, he would kill him again. And again. And again. And that wouldn't feel like a hell loop, oh no. It would feel… well, heavenly. Oh, that's bad. That's very bad. The monster's back, isn't he? "No more devil talk", she told him – oh, the irony!

Come on. Snap out of it. Showing her the truth was the bloody _plan_. She's still in the loft, she must be. He'll just go back and they will finally have the Devil talk! She's already chosen him with what she thought were his quirks. Now she'll just have to choose him as he is, warts and all.

But what if she doesn't?

He hears sirens in the street. Of course. He's missed his window again. This is becoming a terrible habit - why can't he get rid of it once and for all? Dreadfully inconvenient. He sits on the roof and lights a cigarette. His hands are no longer red and scorched, he notices. What about his face? He touches the top of his head. Hair. Interesting. He wasn't born yesterday - far from it! - but this particular human never ceases to amaze him. A mere thought of her - and the devil face has switched itself off. He'll have to make an appointment with the doctor, and soon. But not now. He must win the Detective back first. Baby steps, right?

But what if he can't?

He sighs and lights another cigarette.

Well, he thinks, I guess I'll have to find out the hard way.

Half an hour later, he enters the loft.


	3. Chapter 3

DAN AND ELLA

"Dan... Those were gunshots, right?"

"Yep. Those were gunshots."

A soft sinister laughter fills the room. Dan and Ella turn and look at Pierce's henchman.

"They're dead now. He was just playing with them. And you're dead, too, by the way."

Ella gulps. Dan feels stupid, powerless, and angry. Very, very angry. Two large steps – and his clenched fist is an inch away from the other man's face.

"Give me one good reason not to smash your skull in."

"Whatever, man. Go ahead. I don't care."

Ella's voice cuts through the electric silence.

"I think they're alive. You don't know them like we do."

The henchman grins.

"Yeah, and I have a pet unicorn."

Ella frowns and looks at Dan. She can't imagine how he must be feeling. He's already lost Charlotte, he may have just lost Chloe… She runs up to him and hugs him as tight as she can.

"They are alive. They must be, I feel it. Chloe is smart, and Lucifer… Lucifer has his ways."

"I know."

A minute passes in silence. Maybe more. As soon as Ella lets go, Dan takes out his phone again. He stares at it, imagining the worst possible scenarios. What if no one picks up? What if it's one of those moments when a phone rings and something goes very wrong? What if… what if Pierce picks up instead of Chloe?

Ella takes his hand into hers and pushes the green button. The ringing tone goes one, two, three… no answer. Five, six… nothing. Ten, eleven…

"Dan?"

"Chloe! Thank God! What happened?"

"Pierce is dead. It's over. I need a CSI unit here."

"Are you OK?"

No answer.

"Chloe?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just... Sorry, I have to go."

And she hangs up again. What the hell is going on over there? He looks at Ella – but Ella is all beaming.

"Told you! They're alive!"

"She needs a CSI unit."

"Already on it, partner!"

Ella's fingers are typing something into her smartphone. Two seconds later, she smiles.

"They're on their way. Now. What do _we_ do?"

They both turn and look at the gunman tied to the chair. There's only two of them now, and that asshole won't go to the precinct without a fight. Anything can happen in the elevator, when they will be so close to each other.

Ella's voice breaks the silence again.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Probably not. What are you thinking?"

"Look."

She's pointing to Lucifer's liquor wall... What? Oh. Oh! The _liquor_ wall!

Dan holds the gun while Ella presses a bottle against the henchman's lips.

"This is your lucky day, tough guy. Our friend here only drinks very expensive whisky, so you'll be getting the good stuff. Come one. Drink up. For your dead boss. Don't spit it out. You're almost there. Good job! That was yummy, right? Guess what? We have got another bottle, just for you! No? Come on, just a couple of shots! You don't like it? That's OK. You should drink in moderation, you know."

Half an hour later, they are driving to the precinct. Ella is visibly worried.

"I'm just saying. A bottle of whisky is what? 28 units in under ten minutes with no food? I mean, I hope we didn't kill him… Maybe we should take him to a hospital, you know."

No hospitals, Dan thinks. The bastard will just have to pull through on his own, and come what may.


	4. Chapter 4

CHLOE

She's sitting in the ambulance car with a blanket over her shoulders. The CSI are upstairs doing their thing, and the detectives have finally left her alone. Why do they always give people blankets? It's not cold at all! And the blanket isn't too soft, either. But somehow, it does feel soothing - until she looks outside.

The two dead bodies are being carried out of the building in black bags. Her first instinct is to turn away, but she makes herself watch. She watches and wonders. Which one is Pierce? There's no way to tell now. How did it all happen? Why did it have to? Pierce wanted to kill Lucifer so that Lucifer wouldn't hunt him down, and she stood in the way of _that_, right? Right? This is how it sounded then, but now she's not so sure.

She leaves the comfort of the ambulance and lingers in the street staring at the entrance to the damn building. She tries to remember. Lucifer seemed to _like_ Pierce at some point. Then he changed his mind – when exactly did that happen? She thought he was just being jealous and immature, and so he was, of course, but now it's obvious that he wasn't motivated by jealousy alone. What _was_ it? How did he know Pierce was Sinnerman? How did he know he was dangerous? So many questions – and she hasn't even _begun_ to think about Lucifer himself, what he is and what he represents.

It's time. She takes out her phone and dials his number. No one picks up. Of course not. Why would she even expect him to pick up? He never does. He's like a cranky teenager, so frustrating! She calls again. And again. She puts the phone away, almost – when it buzzes. Oh, a message!

"Detective, I will call you back."

Well, that's… new. She looks around. Is he nearby? Probably not. He must be sulking somewhere far away, as usual. But the truth is, this time, she can relate. He's just killed two people. Even if it was in self-defence… After _she_ had to kill on duty for the first time, she wasn't herself for days. And she'd been through the academy, she was supposed to be ready. But no one's ever ready, no one can ever be, and Lucifer is just a civilian…

Holy. Sh...

Lucifer is the Devil. Is the Devil a civilian? Has he… has he killed before?

He doesn't look like somebody who's killed people. Correction: _didn't_ look. That was before... the _face._ No, that's just plain stupid. Did Pierce look like a criminal mastermind? They say Ted Bundy was charming! And yet… and yet. Ok. What are Lucifer's known sins? No, really, what are the Devil's sins? Ha. The Devil's sins. Ok, one, two, three, go.

He's promiscuous – of course. A drug user – certainly. An alcoholic – possibly. A briber – sure. A thief – sometimes. Arrogant - yes. Sleazy and shady – no doubt. But is he a murderer? An hour ago, she _knew_ he wasn't. Can she be so sure now? Can she trust him at all?

There's one important thing he isn't. A liar. Does that mean she can trust him? She wants to. She needs to.

She takes out her phone again. No new messages, no missed calls. She grits her teeth and calls him again. Still no answer.

She turns around and faces the entrance door again. And there he is. No scalded scalp, no red eyes. He looks _normal. _She watches him walk out of the building... escorted by two police officers. She wants to wave and shout, but stops mid-way when their eyes meet. Did he just smile and nod? Are they taking him into custody? It certainly seems so. How did _that_ happen?

And just like that, he's gone again.

But now she knows exactly where to find him.


	5. Chapter 5

LUCIFER

He enters the loft just like the detective did: on foot. He pauses on the staircase, unseen for now, simply because no one is expecting him to be there. Everything is being catalogued, recorded and collected, from glass shards to bullet holes; from guns to feathers. He feels a tinge of disappointment. He was hoping to see one familiar face in this small crowd, but she's nowhere to be found. He's late.

The two body bags are zipped and carried away. He watches, mesmerized. Cain is dead. Pierce is dead, too. And so is Sinnerman. He's killed them all, and there will probably be massive repercussions for all three. He looks at the sky – well, at the ceiling…

"Freeze!"

Now, that was rude and absolutely unneccessary; he was standing perfectly still. From down below, two guns are pointing at him. Guns. He frowns. He's had enough guns for today.

"Hands in the air!"

He pauses. It's a simple request, and one they are _obliged_ to make, too. But he's simply not in the mood.

"Why, hello, detectives."

"I said, hands in the air! One! Two! Three!"

He chuckles and slowly spreads his arms as wide as he can.

"There, they're in the air. Happy now?"

"Come down here, slowly!"

He complies and walks down the stairs, arms spread wide. The detective on the right lowers his gun, pats him down and nods to his partner.

"Name."

"Lucifer. Morningstar. Aren't we going to hug?"

"Put them down. _The_ Lucifer Morningstar? Detective Decker's partner?"

"The one and only. And you are..?"

"Detective Santana. This is detective Evans. What happened here?"

"An ambush. The Detective and I arrived here to... You see, we were under the impression that a woman needed our help. Instead, we were attacked by the man you know as Lieutenant Marcus Pierce, and his merry band of gunmen."

"Yes, they opened fire. What I don't get is how you both survived."

"Well, we almost didn't. They kept shooting, it was raining bullets! At some point, I carried the Detective onto the roof."

"How?"

"I don't know how _you_ carry things, detective Santana. _I_ prefer lifting them and wandering about; you should try it some time."

"Wiseass, huh? Why didn't they follow you?"

"They didn't, didn't they? I'm sorry, detectives. Am I being interrogated? If so, what am I being charged with – saving the detective's life? If the answer is no, I'm not being charged with anything, I would like to go now and give my statement… at a much, much later time."

Watching detective Santana open his mouth and close it again is awfully amusing. Oh, the phone is ringing. And again. He takes it out. Oh.

"I have to take this call. So, if we are quite done here..."

He starts turning away, but detective Evans cuts in.

"Just explain one thing, mister Morningstar. What happened _after_ you carried Detective Decker to the roof?"

Frustrated, he looks at the phone that has just stopped ringing. Can't they see it's very important? Thank Dad for the short message service. He types, puts the phone away and turns back.

"I left her – in perfect safety, mind you! - and came back."

"You came back here."

"Do you have a hearing impairment, detective Evans?"

"Have you got a gun?"

"Of course not. Guns are for wankers."

"So you left Detective Decker on the roof and returned here alone and unarmed. Why didn't either of you call for backup?"

"I'm afraid you will have to ask Detective Decker, but I'm more than certain her decision was entirely justified."

"What about yours?"

Now it's his turn to open his mouth and close it. Yes, he went back alone and unarmed. He went back because he had one clear purpose: to kill Cain. To crush him, to watch life leave his body. He came back to knowingly murder a human - a twisted and foul human, but a human nonetheless. And he _loved_ murdering him. He _is_ a punisher, true; but that was no punishment. That was _revenge_.

He looks at the ceiling again. What was he thinking? Planning to get the Detective back. Ridiculous. Outright delusional! He will never have her; he doesn't deserve her; he never did. Dear Dad must be laughing so hard right now.

When he speaks again, his smirk is gone, his voice is dull, and he looks tired.

"I came back because they stood no chance against me."

"You, alone, unarmed, against how many people?"

"Five."

"Five. Wait. No way. Are you… Batman?"

"Batman is mortal. I'm not."

Both detectives scoff and look at him, waiting for a real explanation. But none is forthcoming, and it's Santana who continues.

"Just for the sake of clarity. Did you come back to _talk_ to the people who had fired at you?"

"No. I came back to fight them."

"So, to recap. You came back because you were certain that five armed people stood no chance against you. You came back to start a fight. And that fight resulted in two dead bodies, one of whom was Lieutenant Marcus Pierce."

"That is surprisingly accurate."

"You know, pal. You may be delusional, but the outcome says you sure can fight. And you insist you knew that outcome beforehand. This kinda makes this whole episode look a bit… _premeditated_ on your part, don't you agree?"

"I wasn't planning to kill any of Lieutenant Pierce's men, if that's what you're implying."

"But what about Lieutenant Pierce himself?"

Strangely, he feels relieved when the detectives take him downstairs and out of the building... And there she is, standing across the street! Is she about to wave at him? That's a very nice gesture, Detective, all things considered. Their eyes meet, and her arm stops mid-way. Right. He smiles and nods.

In any case, she knows where to find him.


	6. Chapter 6

DAN

He's sitting at his desk. It will be hours and hours before they can interrogate the henchman they've brought in. Ella's gone to do something at the lab, and he… well, he's got nothing to do.

For the first time since Charlotte's death, he's got nothing to do. No case to occupy his mind. No task, no goal, no plan, no urgency of any kind. They say nature doesn't like emptiness… or whatever. And they're right. Emptiness is dangerous. Thoughts creep in. Bad thoughts.

Despite the two sleepless nights, he doesn't feel tired. On the contrary. He wants to go somewhere and do something. He needs to be busy. But the only thing he can do right now is paperwork. So he finishes it. It's not enough. The emptiness grows.

His thoughts drift to Charlotte. Her smile, her smell, the sound of her voice, her hair, the way her fingers move… he jumps between those memories – and the night when he was sitting on the ground, sobbing and yelling, holding her body, unwilling to believe she was dead. He winces. Right. Getting coffee is something he can _do._ And a reason to stop just sitting there.

So, Pierce is dead. Good. Good. But it's not enough. Pierce is dead, but so is Charlotte. Death is so easy. Too easy. And it was probably quick, too. Chloe must have simply shot him. Or was it Lucifer? Oh yeah. Lucifer.

He drinks his coffee in one large gulp. Lucifer knew. He had known for months, and he didn't say anything. Why? Why babble on and on about God and immortality - day after day! – and keep his mouth shut about the real and important stuff? It's not difficult. Not difficult at all. Just open your frigging mouth and say, "Yo, guys, our Lieutenant is a big ass crime boss"! What? No one would have believed him? Bullshit! _Dan_ would've believed. _Dan_ would've investigated Pierce, _Dan_ would've stopped him, and Charlotte would be alive! If only the freak had opened his damn mouth!

He feels hatred. It's so intense he has to put the empty mug on the table in order not to throw it at the wall. He starts counting to ten, but gives up after "three". He tries to breathe. It's not enough. The walls are too close, and there are too many eyes around. He needs more space. More air.

The outside staircase is better, but its metal frame still feels like a cage. He tries to think about anything else – literally anything. It's a beautiful day out there, but he doesn't care. In fact, he cannot think of a single thing or a single person he gives a shit about right now. Even Chloe. Chloe who is now with Lucifer. With Lucifer, who knew everything and didn't say a damn word! Of course, she's already forgiven that slimeball, but _he_ doesn't have to.

Yes, that's it. There's no joy in anything anymore; no grief, no sorrow and no regret either. There's only anger. Rage. Hatred and an overwhelming desire to destroy. He wishes he hadn't quit smoking. More coffee, then. Having a purpose feels good. He'll find Lucifer. He'll tell him. He'll show him. Yeah, the bastard will finally get what he deserves. Satisfied with the thought, he fills his mug to the brim and turns… oh shit, Ella!

"Ouch!"

He justs stands there and does nothing while Ella yelps and wastes napkin after napkin trying to get hot coffee off her shirt. It's no use anyway, so why bother? He hasn't even apologized. Maybe he should. Nah. Who cares. It's just coffee.

Strangely, Ella seems not to mind. At least, she doesn't say anything about the coffee or his overall attitude. Instead, she comes closer and whispers, "Hey. Diego Santana just called. They've brought Lucifer into their precinct".

Dan's face lightens up. Now he knows where to find him.


	7. Chapter 7

CHLOE

She parks the car and crosses the street. It's not her precinct, and she's not a relative. But they will surely let her see her partner, right? After all, she's a fellow cop, and cops help each other out. They'll let her see him. They will. They have to.

She's almost at the door when her phone rings. She looks at the caller ID. What? Why? _She's_ not even in town, why is _she_ calling?

"Mom?"

"Chloe, where are you?"

"I can't talk right now. I'll call you back. Bye!"

She hangs up, but as soon as she does, it rings again. Ugh! What does Mom want so early in the morning? She takes it, her other hand already pulling the door open.

"Mom, I said, later, OK?"

And then she stops dead as the phone speaker asks in Trixie's voice, "Mommy? Where are you?"

Oh god. Trixie! And it's a school day, too! And it's way past seven-thirty. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. She looks at the door, panicking. There's gotta be a solution. There's gotta be. Of course. Dan will help. She dials Dan.

"Hey, could you please take Trixie to school? I won't make it on time."

"Um… Not really. I'm in the middle of something."

"What?"

"We've brought Pierce's guy in, so we're kinda busy right now. Sorry, Chlo."

Damn. She drives as fast as she can. Damn this traffic! It takes her almost an hour to get home. Frustrated, she runs inside, ready to fetch her girl and leave... and finds that Trixie hasn't even _started_ getting ready! Her daughter looks at her with that all-too-familiar smug expression she's been using lately to get whatever she wants.

"Mommy… Can I skip school today? I'm already late anyway."

Damn. No way. Some other time – maybe. But not today. She looks at the clock. Damn. Classes have already started. She calls the school and writes a short note while Trixie scrambles for her things. Together, they rush out.

She accompanies Trixie to the principal's office. There, she's told that Trixie, of course, will have to wait until the recess, "...and meanwhile, since you're here, Ms. Decker, do you have time to talk about your daughter?"

She really wants to say no, but the principal has this horrible well-its-_your_-daughter look in her eyes... It's too hard to just get up and leave. And so they talk. And they talk. And then they talk some more. It's important, actually – her daughter and her slipping grades, her pranks and quarrels, her successes and failures. Ten minutes in, she finds herself completely immersed in the conversation while Lucifer and all the craziness of this day fade in her mind. She's on familiar ground now, she knows exactly what she's dealing with, and it feels just right. And then the bell rings.

She's sitting in the car with the engine on. The sun is already high in the sky, and the morning is no longer cool and breezy. It's hot inside, so she's waiting for the a/c to work its magic. She isn't moving. Exhaustion's caught up with her. Just like that, her eyelids seem to weigh a ton, and it feels so good to keep them closed… Yes, yes, she has to go to the precinct... but can she just shut her eyes for one minute? Or two. Maybe two. Definitely not three...

When she wakes up, it's well past midday.


	8. Chapter 8

DAN

He opens the door and enters. It's not his precinct and he's not a relative, but he's a fellow cop, and cops help each other out, right? They will let him in there. They will. They have to.

And they do. "We're waiting for the lab results and still trying to make sense of the crime scene, so yeah, go talk to him," says Santana. "Maybe you'll get some info we can use."

And in he goes, each step bringing him closer to the door at the end of the long corridor. Closer to the man behind the door. The man he wants to… What is it that he wants? Whatever. He'll see him and he'll know what to do. How to _hurt_ him. That son of a bitch who knew everything and said nothing.

In the tiny interrogation room, an unusual sight greets him. Instead of a suit, Lucifer is wearing an LAPD T-shirt, and there's a bandage on his left arm. Whatever. Who cares. He comes in.

"You!"

"Daniel?"

The smug British accent fuels his rage. The asshole is just standing there with his shoulder against the wall as if nothing happened! He puts himself behind the table, looking at Lucifer who takes a couple of steps forward and stops. Right. It's time to tell him.

"We all worked for a crime boss! I sucked up to a crime boss! Chloe nearly married a crime boss! Charlotte was killed by that crime boss! And you knew who he was – you _knew!_ – and you didn't say anything! She's dead because of _you!_ Do you get that? You were the only one who knew, and you kept it—"

He stops, because it's obviously not true. Charlotte was investigating Pierce. Did she suspect him? Or did she _know_? And if she did…

"Did _you_ tell Charlotte about Pierce?"

"I most certainly did not!"

"Then why was she investigating him?!"

He slams his hand on the table and leans towards Lucifer, who seems to genuinely not have a clue.

"Daniel, the only other person who knew was Amen—Oh."

"So, you told Amenadiel. And he told Charlotte. And Pierce found out and killed her."

"Not exactly, Daniel. Charlotte's death was… an accident. Amenadiel was the target."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? Were you going to wait for months before telling me that, too?"

"We'll never know now, won't we. Does it change anything?"

Dan pulls away and circles around the table. They're facing each other directly now, no barrier between them – and almost no air.

"Yes, it does! You didn't bother to say anything to the two police officers you work with. But you didn't care enough to yap to your damn brother, and this actually makes it worse!"

The freak shrugs.

"I suppose you've been telling yourself that you would've believed me."

"You bet I would have!"

What was that sound? A scoff? Oh no, you don't. Don't you dare! The fingers on his right hand clench into a fist, fly forward…

"Daniel, no!"

…and hit something hard and dense like a steel slab. He can hear his bones crack. The pain is excruciating. For a split second, the world goes dark. He sways – and feels something grab his elbow, steadying him on his feet.

"Have a seat, Daniel."

He slumps into a chair. The pain is intense, but the shock is passing.

"What… just happened?"

"You've broken your hand, Daniel."

"How?.."

The question dies in his throat as Lucifer leans down to him and says, "So, hurting me. Is that what you really want?"

Shit! He's seen him pull that trick on people. How does it work? Why… but his next thought fades away together with the room around him, and he sees nothing but Lucifer's eyes, hears nothing but Lucifer's voice, and thinks of nothing but his biggest, brightest, burning desire.

"I…"

"Yes, Daniel. Please. Tell me."

"I just want Charlotte to be alive!" he blurts out. The spell is broken. He can't take it anymore. He covers his face and starts sobbing, letting out all his anger over a dream that will never come true, a life that will never happen, a love that will never be. It's unfair. It's so unfair. The pain from his broken bones merges with the agony of his broken heart; he presses his forehead against the table, repeating, "I just want her to be alive… I just want her to live." He feels Lucifer's hand on his shoulder.

"So do I, Daniel. So do I."

A minute passes. Then two. Then three. There's a question that must be asked, and it must be asked now.

"How… how did he die?"

"I stabbed him through the heart. And… I made it certain that he went to Hell."

He raises his head, but Lucifer is staring somewhere far away and also nowhere. He looks down at his hand – definitely broken, and he still can't figure out how.

"You need medical attention, Daniel."

"Yeah. How did I... No. I'd better go."

He stands up, walks to the door and opens it. It is then that he hears Lucifer's words.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He steps out, closes the door and doesn't look back.

Santana's waiting at the other end of the corridor.

"Man! What happened to your hand?"

"I broke it."

"Shit. Was it Morningstar?"

"No, no, it was me. Look, Santana. Go easy on him, OK?"

Outside, the morning is no longer cool and breezy. The sun is climbing higher and higher in the sky, and the smell of freshly mown grass is mixing with that of hot asphalt. People are rushing past him, and the cars are stuck in a huge traffic jam.

His hand hurts like hell.


	9. Chapter 9

LUCIFER

He's bored out of his mind. He's not hungry, but he could definitely do with some whisky. They took his flask away along with everything else he had on him. They even took his jacket and shirt – apparently, it's evidence, so he's wearing an LAPD-issued T-shirt instead. They also dressed the cut on his arm. How kind of them. Truth be told, he was expecting a rougher treatment and a much swifter punishment. But it's been almost three hours since Daniel left, and nothing is happening, absolutely nothing!

He knows how this works. He's seen them pull this trick on people. They've left him to 'marinate', haven't they? When will they finally 'grill' him? Ugh. Humans and their food metaphors. Yes, some whisky would be lovely. He'd easily down a bottle of scotch right now. They say some humans don't drink at all. How do they cope with this mind-numbing boredom?! Or perhaps, this _is_ his punishment. Ha. That's actually clever. Righty-o! He'll wait for their next torture, then.

He can hear their steps in the corridor. Finally! He turns to the door with a cheerful smile on his face.

"Detectives! Please have a seat. Shall we start?"

The detectives exchange a long glance before sitting down. They look somewhat familiar, these two. Abbott and Costello? No, that's not it. Craig and Day-Day? Closer, but still wrong. Shall he give them nicknames? Is it even appropriate to give nicknames to people who are interrogating you? Wait… one of them is speaking. What's his name… Santana.

"Mister Mooorningstaaaar."

"What? Oh, do forgive me, detectives. Yes, I fully intended to kill Lieutenant Pierce. Now, where do I sign my confession?"

"Whoa, slow down and just answer the question."

"Could you repeat it? If you don't awfully mind."

"Oh, right, since you weren't in the room. What happened to detective Espinoza?"

"I haven't the foggiest. I haven't seen him since—Oh. You mean his _hand."_

"Yes, I do. How did he break it?"

"As far as I know, human limbs tend to break if they hit something very hard very fast."

"Wow, who could've thought. _What_ did he hit?"

"Ah. I wasn't looking at his _hand_, you see. But he was very distressed when it happened."

"Is that all you're gonna say?"

"I'm afraid so. Have you tried asking detective Espinoza? He _is_ able to talk, isn't he? He _was_ when he parted ways with me."

There's this long glance again.

"Detectives, could we please get back to my confession?"

"Not until you help us make sense of it all." Evans frowns and shuffles the papers in his file.

"I will be happy to clear up any misunderstanding."

"Great. Let's start with the obvious. Where's the bird?"

"The bird?"

"Yeah. We found large white feathers covered in blood. The blood isn't human. We still don't know the species, but it matches the feathers."

"I assure you, detectives, there was no bird."

"Are you certain you didn't see it? We found the same feathers and blood on the roof, along with almost eighty bullets."

"You know the strangest thing?", Santana adds. "That same blood was found on your sleeve. The one that was cut. Care to explain?"

Evans contunues, "And while you're at it, explain how your _shirt_ was riddled with bullets, but not _you_."

He sighs. Should he just show them his wings? But they can't have proof of divinity. They'll lose their marbles like most humans who are confronted with the divine. Correction. Like _all_ humans. She is exceptional in many ways, but alas... He closes his eyes – and there it is. Her beautiful face contorted with pure horror. Will he ever be able to erase this image from his memory? Will _she_?

"Mister Moorningstaaar? Are you still with us?"

"Of—Of course, detectives."

"You know what I think?" says Evans, leaning forward. "I think you're lying."

"I most certainly am not!"

"I think," Evans gets from his chair, circles around the table and sits on it as close as he can, "that this whole crime scene was staged. I think you got that cut while you were getting away. And I think that when you came back, everyone was already dead or gone."

"Staged? Already dead? But—"

"I also think that you had both time _and_ opportunity to stage the scene. The only thing I can't figure out is your _motive_."

"That's… Preposterous!"

He's absolutely shocked. It's right in front of them, and they still can't connect the dots! The answer is staring them in the face, but they prefer a nonsensical, convoluted explanation. What's wrong with them? The Detective has acted in much the same way, repeatedly – and now Starsky and Hutch (still hopelessly wrong!) are doing it, too. Seriously, it's utterly ridiculous. Did dear old Dad make their minds so narrow on purpose?

"OK, it's 'preposterous'. So tell me the _truth_," he hears Santana say.

He shrugs. They want the truth, so he'll give them the truth. This farce can continue no longer.

"The feathers are mine, and so is the blood. I cannot be killed by your weapons, hence the holes in my shirt, but not me."

"And why would you have… feathers?"

"Because I have wings, of course!"

What is it with the long glances? That's it, he's had enough. Show time. He looks around. The room is so tiny, and the bloody wings still haven't fully healed, so hitting the walls will be quite painful. He takes a deep breath and starts counting to three. At "two", Evans interrupts him.

"OK, mister Morningstar. You have wings and you're bulletproof. Let's say we believe you."

"Oh, _do_ you now?"

"Yes. So. Tell us. What happened there?"

And he tells them. He tells them how he shielded the Detective with his wings and flew her to the roof. How he returned and fought four armed men – "And I insist, detectives, I did not mean to kill that miserable sod!" How Pierce unloaded a clip into his chest. How the same Pierce was suddenly in posession of one of the very few things that _can_ kill him – and instantly tried to. How none of it matters because he would have terminated the Sinnerman's life anyway – "Oh, incidentally, he was the _Sinnerman,_ and you're welcome." He omits the part where the Detective recoiled from him in terror, but tells them how he shook the bullets out of his wings on the roof before returning to the loft again.

When he's finished talking, the room is so silent he can hear his own blood flow. After exchanging the longest glance of the day, the detectives stand up in perfect unison. Santana leans forward across the table and speaks very slowly for some reason, articulating every word.

"Mister Morningstar. You will have to take a short trip downtown for evaluation. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Evaluation? What evalu—Bloody hell! He wishes Amenadiel were here, so that he could see first-hand what happens if angel blood enters the police database. Indeed, humanity can't handle divinity. They simply send it to a madhouse!

When the detectives leave him, he's laughing.


	10. Chapter 10

CHLOE

When she wakes up, the shadows have changed. Alarmed, she looks at the clock. Oh no, she's lost almost three hours! She hits the road and drives as fast as she can – but how fast can you drive in this traffic? The clock is ticking, and she just crawls through the city like a frustrated turtle.

Finally, the precinct. She runs to the door. She's hoping they'll just let her inside, but she's told to wait. Then she's joined by a very perplexed Evans who cuts straight to the chase.

"Tell me, Decker… Is he always like that?"

"Wh—What do you mean?"

"I mean, how do you work with him? The guy's a total nutcase, and then some! He insists he's bulletproof and can't be harmed by 'our weapons', claims he's got wings and makes no sense at all."

"Did he show them to you?" Oops. That came out too quick.

"What?"

"Nevermind. So… yeah, he can be like that. He says… weird things. Always has. But he's a great partner, so..."

"So he _has_ talked to you about the whole…"

"The whole immortality thing? Yeah, many times. I just play along."

"It's just that we thought it was a coping mechanism, you know. He's survived that mayhem, and now he wants to believe he's immortal or something. He's a civilian, after all. We thought he was so scared he lost it."

She tries to suppress a nervous laugh. Nope. Too loud and way too nervous.

"Right… Listen, Evans. Can I see him, please? I know it's against the rules…"

"Two things, Decker. One. We already bent the rules for Espinoza, and it didn't end well."

"Espinoza?"

"Yeah, he came in the morning. You didn't know?"

No, she didn't. Dan never told her. Is _this_ why he refused to take Trixie to school? Did he lie to her? She makes a mental note to talk to Dan as soon as possible.

"You said it didn't end well."

"Nope. Espinoza broke his hand, and we still don't know how. He only said that it wasn't Morningstar, and your partner clammed up the moment we asked him about it."

"Yeah… So let me talk to Lucifer, then, and I'll find out."

"Well, here's the thing number two, Decker. He's not here anymore."

Her heart freezes. So he's escaped. She can't help but wonder. Did he fly away? Did he smash through the wall? Did he talk somebody into letting him out for a favor? Did he use some superpower she's not aware of? In any case, this is bad. This is very bad.

"I'll help you find him."

_"Find_ him? Decker, are you all right?"

"You… you said... he wasn't here."

"I did, yeah. But what made you think I don't know _where_ he is?"

"Oh! Right… Of course you do. Of course you do. Sorry. I'm really tired. Where is he?"

"At the mental health center downtown. We sent him there for evaluation about half an hour ago."

Evaluation? What evalu—Of course. They think he's crazy. Well, who can blame them? Been there, done that. But now that she _knows_… it's just too insane. And the most insane thing is that he – the real, immortal, flying, powerful Devil – simply _let_ them take him there. He let them arrest him, let them interrogate him, and now this. Why? What's his plan? Does he have a plan? Evans is right. He's not making sense at all.

"Decker, are you OK?"

"Yes, yes… Look, Evans. Thank you. I'll just… go now."

"Wait, there's a third thing. Can I ask you one question? If you're up to it, that is. It's not urgent, but it _is_ important."

"I'll try."

"Thanks. So… I know you have no idea what happened after that bullet hit you, but… Do you remember seeing a bird?"

"A bird?"

"Yeah, a large white bird. It may have been dead, though."

This time, she tries not to let out a panicked giggle, and fails miserably again.

"No, I didn't see any birds."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Good luck, anyway!"

On her way out, she calls Dan. No answer. Why is nobody answering their phone today? All right, she'll talk to Dan later and in person. And she will have a lot to say. Next stop, the mental center. And _him_. The real, immortal, flying, powerful Devil. She gets into her car but can't make herself start it and just sits there staring at the dashboard.

Maybe seeing him isn't such a great idea. Maybe she should call Olga and cancel, pick Trixie from school and spend the evening watching _Frozen_ or something? What will she even _say_ to him? "Hi, Lucifer, so, you really are the Devil"? "Hi, Lucifer, I don't know how to speak to you anymore"? "Hi, Lucifer, I just want things to go back to the way they were yesterday"? And speaking of yesterday… How could she be so stupid? "Not to me," she said. "Not to me." She can't really blame him, though. He kept telling her, over and over. God, she was such an idiot. She fell for him. She thought she _knew_ him.

Come to think of it, this is starting to look like a pattern. She thinks she knows her men, and then... Her ex-husband is a corrupt cop, her ex-fiancé was a crime boss and also, apparently, Cain as in, "Cain and Abel", and yesterday she kissed the Devil himself.

From a certain perspective, this may be called… progress? A steady trend, at least. She can't imagine anything that could top Lucifer on _that_ chart, though. His photo should stand for the absolute zero mark. Or whatever it is down there at the bottom.

She turns the key and starts the engine. There's nowhere to go but up, right? The mental health center it is. She drives off.


	11. Chapter 11

DAN

He sent the text an hour ago, but she's not answering.

He skipped some of the line – a perk of being a cop. His hand – by now, a huge swollen bruise - has already been X-rayed, and he's waiting for surgery. Another perk is that doctors don't ask too many questions and just assume cops get injured in the line of duty.

But there's also a downside. He can't simply dismiss the fact that he _wasn't_ injured in the line of duty. He can't stop thinking about it. He can't help asking questions. So many questions. There's only one problem. There's no one to ask.

So, what _did_ happen there? He was aiming for Lucifer's solar plexus, and he sure as hell didn't miss the target. But when his fist made contact, it felt like a collision with a moving train instead of a human body. No part of the human body can be _that_ solid. Even when you punch people in the head, they lose their balance, they yield, they flinch… they react. And their bodies feel… well, like _bodies_, not like concrete walls. And you don't break so many bones. There was something else, too. That "Daniel, no!" didn't sound panicked or scared, oh no. In retrospect, it sounded like "Careful!" or "Watch out!" As if Lucifer _knew_ what was going to happen.

Hence, the text. He's not even sure what he'll say when she writes back. _If_ she writes back, that is. But if anyone can help him, it's her. He needs answers.

There's a nagging thought in the back of his mind, and he's not sure if he wants to let it surface. But he can't help thinking it, over and over. What if… What if it's all true? All that crazy stuff the weirdo's been saying – what if it's true? Wait. No, that's insane. Maybe it's just bone brittleness? There's a real disease that makes it happen. What's it called? Ugh, does it matter? Focus. The facts. What are the facts?

Yes. The facts. He's known Lucifer for three years now. In those three years, he got shot, stabbed, drugged, knocked out cold… and oh yeah, nearly collapsed after an innocent pat on the back, but recovered and ran off to pester Chloe before anyone could say anything. So the man _can_ be harmed. But then there was that time when Lucifer came at him outside that Chinese gang hangout. That guy is strong. Very strong. Too strong? That's the question.

His phone rings. It's Chloe. Sorry. Not now. He's waiting for a very different call. Or a text. Or anything. It's been over an hour, damn it.

Someone once said, "I only know that I know nothing." It's a very familiar feeling. But it's also a good start. So. What's the plan? How will he get from "nothing" to "something"? He needs more facts. He remembers Lucifer at the precinct this morning. No suit. A T-shirt… and that bandage on his arm. So, Lu—Morningstar. It will be Morningstar from now on. Some distance will help. So. One. Morningstar _can_ be harmed and he _was_. Two. There's _evidence_ in that precinct. A shirt, or a jacket, or maybe both – with Morningstar's DNA. Three. This evidence must be… relocated. It must be examined by somebody who's looking for answers and asking the right questions.

But here's the catch: he's in no position to relocate anything. Not with a broken hand and not from another precinct. He needs help. Hence...

His phone chimes. He looks at the screen. Finally.

"What do you want?" the message says.

"I want you to break into an evidence locker and get Morningstar's stuff."

"I'm done rescuing him."

"It's not for him, it's for me."

"Why?"

"I need to figure something out."

"Will it help him?"

"Unlikely."

"Will it harm him?"

"No idea. It might."

"I'm in."

He knew he could count on Maze. He texts her the details just as the nurse comes to take him to surgery.

Having a purpose always feels good. But this time, his purpose is real. Tangible. Something he can do. Something he _will_ do. He'll dig deep. As deep as he can. There's something off with Morningstar, and he'll find it all out. After all, that's his job. And he's good at it. And when he finds it all out, he'll tell Chloe. She has to know. And she will. Oh, they all will.

He closes his eyes smiling.


	12. Chapter 12

CHLOE AND LUCIFER

She hates lying to people, she really does. But there's no way they'll let her see him out of visiting hours. So she plays the distraught girlfriend and uses all her charms on a seedy balding doctor. The doctor – "Just call me Steve, my dear" - leads her straight to the door and leaves after casting her a sad glance. She pauses, takes a deep breath and turns the handle.

He is facing the window, so she can only see his back. Everything she wanted to say, everything she was preparing and rehearsing in the car evaporates, replaced by a jolt of fear. What if he turns and there's _that_ _face_ again? She forces herself to enter, step by step. Come on, get your shit together. Time to say something! She opens her mouth, takes a deep breath – and almost chokes when he beats her to the first word.

"Detective."

His voice is flat, and he doesn't move. Why won't he look at her? Her stomach turns. That's it. Enough with the silly drama. If she's about to see that face, so be it.

"Lucifer, look at me."

Fear isn't something he's used to; he doesn't have much of an experience. But as he turns to her, his knees betray him and he has to sit down onto the bed. Her relief at seeing his face lasted but a tiny fraction of a second, but it did not escape him. Of course. What did he expect? Somehow, he doesn't feel like looking her in the eyes – or looking at her at all, for that matter. He chooses to look at the door frame behind her – the top right corner, to be precise. He feels the urge to run. To flee. To generally disappear. He fights it, focussing on the door. What's the name of this colour? Steel? Platinum? Pewter?

"Lucifer."

"Detective?"

"Please. Look at me."

Right. Time to muster all he's got and put on a decent show. His lips start to curve up but stop mid-way. A fake smile feels too much like lying right now, and he never lies. She wants him to look at her? All right. He'll look at her left shoulder. No, that's too close to the… The hair line will do just fine.

"As you wish."

She can't believe her eyes. Did he just try to smile and failed? Oh, God. Coming here was a huge mistake. But leaving now will probably make things even worse. How… how can she start this conversation? What small talk will break this ice? She was never good at small talk. Think about something light. Something non-threatening. Something you both feel safe discussing… Literally, the first thing that comes to mind.

"Which of your faces is real?" Wow. That wasn't light; that wasn't safe. On the other hand, it made him look her in the eye. And now that he's finally doing it, she wishes he wasn't.

"Both," he says after a pause. And just as she thinks this is the only answer she's going to get, he adds, "But _this_ face came first."

He expects another look of relief on her face, but there is none. Does that mean she's not happy with his answer? Although 'happy' is certainly not the appropriate word. How can either of them be happy right now? He knows _he_ can't. He's afraid; he's sad; he's guilty – and oh yes, he's angry. Too many emotions at the same time and all of them wrong. It's utterly unbearable. It has to be got over.

"Why have you come here, Detective?" That sounded much harsher than he'd intended it to, but it'll have to do.

"I… I have questions."

Questions. He knows those questions all too well. She's already asked one from the usual riveting set that includes such gems as "Are you _really_ the Devil?" "So, God is real?" "What is it like in Hell?" and so on and so forth to infinity. No. Not now. He can't do it now. But if she leaves…

"I will answer three." And he looks at the door again.

Three. This actually makes it easier. She's bad at small talk, but great at prioritizing. So, here goes nothing.

"Why are you here?"

"The detectives at the precinct did not quite believe my version of events and brought me in for evaluation."

"No. I mean, why do you _stay_ here? You can leave whenever you want, right?"

"I've killed a man, Detective. I'm not supposed to ever do that. This is my punishment."

So he _hasn't_ killed before! Phew. That's… that's very good. And he obviously feels bad about it. That's good, too! And also very bad.

"It was self-defence, Lucifer."

"But it wasn't."

"He _attacked_ us, remember?" Damn, that was a question.

He looks at her. She's so serious, so concerned, so professional – as always. And her questions are… surprisingly good. Now, how can he explain?

"I am the Devil. He was a man. I returned to kill him fully aware that he couldn't hurt me."

"Nonsense. I saw you get hurt many times. I _shot_ you."

"It's… complicated."

"And you have a bandage on your arm."

"That's also complicated." Ugh. He's frustrated. This is not a good time to go into all those details. They are so unimportant, so insignificant, so boring. Why are humans so fascinated with minutiae?

Is he… annoyed? With what? He's hiding something – that much is obvious. Now that she thinks about it, it _does_ seem strange. He is really the Devil, so he _must_ be immortal, invulnerable and all that. But she saw him get shot and stabbed… She _saw_ him! What if he has two modes and switches them just like he switches faces? What if when he's in his immortal mode… Oh, God.

"What did you do to Dan?"

"Absolutely nothing! Trust me, Detective, I didn't move a finger. He hit me, and I simply failed to stop him."

She studies his face. He never lies, right? She feels she knows him like the back of her hand – and at the same time doesn't know him at all.

"Can I trust you?"

"I'm afraid your three questions are up."

"You said, "trust me", Lucifer. _Can_ I?" This sounded much more desperate than she'd intended it to, but it'll have to do.

Can she trust him! He wants to laugh in her face. He wants to yell. He wants to break something. Why _is_ he fighting this urge to get up and leave, again? This is the most ridiculous, absurd, moronic question she could possibly think of! How on earth could she…

"…be asking that, Detective? Now, when you _know_ that I have _never_ lied to you, when you _know_ that _everything_ I've ever told you was the truth – _now_ you're asking me if you can trust me? I've literally been telling you who I am all the time, and now that you finally _believe_ me you cannot _trust_ me? I must admit once again, dear Dad has an exceptionally perverted sense of humour!"

"Lucifer…"

He falters, realizing he's no longer sitting on the bed. When did _that_ happen? Instead, he's standing in the middle of the room facing the Detective who looks… positively frightened. Bloody hell, he's done it again. He touches his chin. No devil face, but that still doesn't mean he hasn't done it again. He takes a step back, giving her all the space there is in the tiny ward and takes his eyes off her.

"I'm sorry, Detective."

She doesn't answer, but she doesn't leave either, so he ventures a question of his own.

"What happens now?"

"I… I don't know, Lucifer. I understand that you want things to go back to the way they were—"

"But I _don't_, Detective."

"But I _do_! _I_ do! Please, you have to understand. The fact that you're _you_ – it's just… It changes too much."

"As I've been telling you, Det—"

"Can you stop making everything about _you_? Just this once? Can you at least try to imagine what I'm feeling? Your "Dad" is my "God" I never thought existed! And the place you call "home" is Hell!"

"Heaven, actually."

"Shut up, Lucifer! My universe is upside down. I don't know what's real anymore. Of course, for you, it's nothing. For you, it's a game and we're all toys, and once you're bored you just… fly away or whatever you do. But I have to live out my life and die!"

His face is unreadable. Is he hurt? Sad? Angry? The wall is back up, and she can't see through it. He isn't even looking at her. He's staring at something behind her – again! She turns to follow his eyes, but there's nothing there, only the grey door.

"Detective. What do you want me to do?"

"I wish I knew."

"Would you prefer it if I… disappear?"

"God, no!" He winces at the mention but looks visibly relieved. "Listen. Let's tackle one problem at a time. Right now, there's an ongoing investigation. They'll have my statement. They'll have Dan and Ella's. They'll crack that guy we caught. It'll all go away. Just… just sit here and hang tight."

"And then?"

"For the third time, Lucifer, I don't know! I guess I just need time."

"Luckily, time is something I have in abundance."

"And space."

"Ah. That sounds much less promising."

"I'm sorry I'm taking it so badly, Lucifer."

"You aren't taking it half as badly as you think, Detective. Two minutes ago, you ordered me to shut up."

Is he smiling? The smile is already gone, but it was definitely there. On impulse, she walks up to him, takes his hand, looks him straight in the eye and tries to speak as evenly as she can.

"Whoever or whatever you are, you are my partner. And I need the eggs, remember?"

Her touch sends a jolt through his body, but her words are killing him, and so do her "Goodbye, Lucifer" and her departure. She said "partner", not— Bloody hell. Apparently, they're firmly back at square one now. On the other hand, she would have probably gone to pieces even if he had shown her his face on his own terms. No human has ever kept calm and carried on. Still, things are better this way. They _must_ be better this way. There's no turning back in any case. She had to know. And now that she knows, it's up to her to make a decision while he can only wait and hope. Free will doesn't feel all that alluring at times. Oh, Dad. This is mind-bogglingly evil. Congratulations. You're a first-class bastard and you know it.

She's sitting in the car looking at the setting sun. She could definitely do with a drink. She's already sent the text to Linda, but what will she tell her? She can't just say her partner is the _real_ Devil. She'll sound… she'll sound exactly like him. So she'll have to talk in metaphors. Today – and every day from now on. It kind of seems like poetic justice. Well, at least, she's in on the joke now. Though she doubts she can ever pull that off as easily as he does. Coming from her, it'll probably just sound awkward and suspicious. And speaking of suspicions… There's no way Dan is fine with breaking his hand the way he did. She'll have to talk to him. Not today, though. Today, she'll get drunk. And then, she'll start moving on. Well, maybe not "moving on" moving on. She'll have to know that "other side" of him he's kept telling her about. Then she can decide. But right now, Linda's asking her to pick the time and the place. Great. In an hour. And anywhere but Lux.

She starts the car and drives off.

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And that's it!

Thank you for reading. I hope the ending didn't disappoint too much. I do appreciate every comment.


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